Sweet Addiction
by Nekare
Summary: [RaitoxL drabble collection] Raito has never liked sweets. There are exceptions though. [2:a gloomy past, and a path chosen.]
1. Strawberries and Cream

A drabble collection (I hope). This is my first Death Note fanfiction, so both Raito and L are quite OOC, but hopefully it'll improve.

**Warning**: this is yaoi, so if you don't like it, don't read it. Also, my first language isn't english, so it's bound to have mistakes.

**Disclaimer: **Nop, Death Note isn't mine. But I wish L was.

**Sweet Addiction**

**By: Nekare**

Raito has never liked sweets.

Or at least that was what he tells himself, since nowadays he can't help but crave some. Sleep was close to claim him, eyes heavy lidded and mind out of his control. The multiple screens are the only source of light, eerie shadows filling the room.

His lips part as he sees Ryuuzaki licking the cream off a strawberry, eyes closed in a contented expression. He finally bites the fragrant fruit, and Raito's breathing goes erratical as pale lips turn a lush red.

He closes his eyes and tries to dispel the distracting thoughts out of his mind. Ryuuzaki makes a half moan, half purring sound and Raito suddenly wants to hit himself in the head with the desk. He opens his eyes just to see the dark haired man licking his lips and humming happily to himself.

He stops thinking.

He pulls on the chain that bounds them together, pulling the other man close enough to grab his shirt and throw him on top of himself; his chair squeaking with the added weight. Ryuuzaki's eyes are wide open, a startled sound coming from the back of his throat. His hands are on Raito's shoulders, trying to support himself. They stare at each other – both of them noticing the closeness between them, but neither doing anything about it – and Raito silences his brain whilst blaming the lack of sleep.

"Raito-kun?" Breath caresses his skin and the strawberry smell is making him dizzy.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?" Ryuuzaki leans his head to the side, looking curious and mildly amused.

"Do you really want to know?" He can't answer, because honestly, he doesn't know himself.

Ryuuzaki shrugs, leans down and kisses him.

And maybe, just maybe; Raito likes sweets a little bit.


	2. Cookies

I'm back! Sorry for taking so long, but I've been focusing in my other drabble collections (from Bleach and Naruto) and with some original stories. Not to mention that I've just had my graduation and a girl needs time to look her best. (Or something along those lines)

I'm leaving for the beach with my friends for a week (yay!) so I'd be thrilled to find reviews when I come back!

Um, I don't really know how to spell Socrates in English, but that's the way it's written in Spanish so whatever.

**Sweet Addiction**

**By: Nekare**

**Cookies**

Years before Kira had become the greatest criminal mind in history, and long before the world had been both terrorized and hopeful of his actions; Raito had once loved cookies.

The seven year old boy had loved to go visiting Auntie Makoto, an old lady that smelled perpetually of chocolate and geraniums. The weekly visits were fresh air on his lungs after a week of dealing with his mostly brain-dead classmates and his constantly annoying sister; his face usually sporting a sunny smile that grew bigger with expectation as they would near her house.

Makoto was incredibly smart, and she had recognized an akin spirit in his young nephew. They would sit on the porch, and she would talk and talk to the boy, politics mixing with philosophy and literature when she was in an especially good mood. They would read cheap mystery novels, and Makoto wouldn't let Raito have his chocolate milk unless he would guess who the killer was. She was the only one who wouldn't treat him like the child he looked like, but for the brilliant mind he was.

And always, always, Makoto would bake him an armful of chocolate chip cookies.

Raito would take some of them home, and the next day while he ate them in the classroom by himself he would remember the evenings learning new and exciting things by the light of a light bulb that would threaten to go out every day. He daydreamed of Socrates in English class, and became Hamlet speaking to Yorick the skull in Math. He had even chosen an Ophelia for him, even if he wouldn't dream of telling the sweet faced girl who sat beside him.

One day, though, he could no longer go see his aunt. He had found both of his parents in the kitchen when he had come from school, the presence of his father striking him as odd, and even more the way they kept looking at each other with grim gazes. Brows together, the little brown-haired boy finally asked what was wrong.

"You won't be able to see your aunt today, son." His father had said as he knelt in front of him, so he could look at him in the eye. Raito realized his mother's eyes were delineated with red and bright with tears. Now, Raito wasn't dumb, so he quickly put two and two together and got a daunting four.

Eyes opened wide, the boy listened to his father in the sweet smelling kitchen, her mother preparing some hot chocolate for him in the stove, her back to him so he wouldn't see the salty tears coming from her eyes. His father's voice drifted to him, as if it was coming from a far away place.

Auntie Makoto had gone to the convenient store, probably in the slow pace that always came along with humming; a pace Raito knew only too well. Two men had stopped her in the way back, apparently to take her money. His father told him she had been very brave and that Auntie had even tried to hit one of the muggers with her cane. It definitely sounded like her, so he believed him. She hadn't had a chance, though, for she had died early in the morning.

She had been on her way to buy the ingredients for the cookies.

"Do you understand that Raito? About your aunt?" His father was doubtful of his response, he could see that. A sob came from his mother's direction and Raito closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, his face was devoid of any emotion, nothingness swimming in his eyes.

"I understand," His voice gave nothing away. "I would like to go upstairs now." He didn't wait for an answer as he walked calmly towards his room. His parents stayed shocked in the kitchen, confusion written in both of his faces.

Raito threw himself into the bed, trying not to focus on anything but the whiteness of the ceiling. He tasted salt, but refused to acknowledge the tears.

Moments before he went to sleep, he promised himself one thing: Those men would pay. They and every other criminal in the world. His seven year old mind slept restfully at the thought.

He hadn't eaten a cookie since then.

* * *

"Do you want one Raito-kun?" Ryuuzaki's voice came from beside him. "You look like you might need it." A box of chocolate chip cookies was shoved right under his nose.

"I don't-" Raito had started to say, but Ryuuzaki only moved the box once again, as if encouraging silently. His ever open eyes were fixed on Raito's, whose sleep deprived mind thought for a second if this might increase the percentage of possibility of him being Kira. His mind scolded itself for being so ridiculous and finally returned to consciousness.

Raito was hungry, and the vague memory of Hamlet could be seen in the other man's eyes, distorted with fog and age, and the diluted hate of a mere child.

Raito took a cookie, and discovered he had missed them quite a lot.


End file.
